


red, white, green (and their meanings)

by uppercasebread



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: He figures it out, Other, Will comes out, also my fucking i key is broken, and it takes some time, he thinks about it for a while, this is abundant with mistakes and incredbly stylized writiing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:38:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uppercasebread/pseuds/uppercasebread
Summary: The Thing Inside Him was always something he had a vague sense of, always slightly aware that this Thing set him apart from his friends. He was aware that this Thing was something that a lot of people hated, a lot of people close to him.He wasn’t sure how close that range got.He really didn’t want to know.





	red, white, green (and their meanings)

September in Hawkins was always one of Will’s favorite times, mostly due to the fact that it was starting to get colder, and the persistent itch his bodily trauma had from the heat of the sun backed off a little. He was able to realistically wear longsleeves to ward off UV light, and the fall air was always chilly enough that the phantom scar He left behind didn’t ache like usual.

This September was  _ not _ Will’s favorite time. He had been wrestling with a lot of personal things, a lot of things he felt very  _ wrong _ and  _ insecure _ and frankly a little bit  _ gross _ about. A part of him knew that it wasn’t something he had control over, wasn’t something he could fault himself- or anyone else for that matter -for. It was simply a part of him that seemed to have grown overnight, a part of him that was so ingrained within him that he could no longer hope to remove it.

Although, he wasn’t sure if he  _ wanted _ to remove it.

The Thing Inside Him was always something he had a vague sense of, always slightly aware that this Thing set him apart from his friends. He was aware that this Thing was something that a lot of people hated, a lot of people close to him.

He wasn’t sure how close that range got.

He really didn’t want to know.

Despite his fear of knowing how many people around him hated this Thing (he always liked to imagine that they were little red dots in a sea of white, white being those who were rather indifferent or even  _ supported _ the Thing. Some days there was so much white in his head it was like the static on TV. Some days he could only see red. When he met Robin, there was a glimmer of green in his sea of white dots. Sometimes he wondered if there was more green. He knew that was unlikely.), he decided at some point he would at least have to tell  _ himself _ about it. 

So on September 10th, 1986, Will Byers sits in front of the mirror in his room and says two words to his reflection that he never thinks he’ll feel safe enough to repeat again.

He says them softly, almost silently. Just enough for one person and one person alone to hear: himself. 

It’s all he needs at the moment. 

He feels his eyes sting and his nose burn at his admittance and maybe even feels like he might throw up a little bit. He’s glad Jane is out in the front yard helping Mom garden, ‘cause if she wasn’t, she would’ve felt his discomfort and practically come running to find him.

Sometimes he wondered if her ability to sense his emotions was her doing, or his. 

He liked to think it was hers. 

Powers were not something he was ready to accept yet.

Being gay, that was his first baby step into his True Understanding of the Self, or whatever.

He kind of liked the way it sounded in his voice.

But he only said it once that day.

on September 14th, 1986, Will decides he maybe should start thinking about telling someone else about his gayness, if only to secure another white dot.

He thinks of who deserves to know first, and who he thinks is safe enough that they at least wont blow up on him if he says anything.

The list is short.

He isn’t certain about every name on it.

It starts with Mom, and Jon, and Jane (albeit her acceptance would be considered a gray dot until she grasped the world around her a little better), and then it carries into the Party. The order of their names seems to swap every time Will thinks about it, so he decides to go for the very first name on his list, the one that stays solidly in its place: Mom.

Joyce has always been close to Will, always taken incredible risks to keep him safe and bring him home, and he knows she wouldn’t throw him out into the street for being gay.

But he wonders if she’ll cut him off emotionally.

He thinks of this at the breakfast table, chewing his bottom lip more than the eggs on his plate- Jon’s made them, of course, Joyce has never been much of a cook -and stirring them around with his fork.

He doesn’t notice Jon and Jane have come and gone until there’s the soft creak of wood against linoleum across from him.

He glances up to see Joyce, sitting at the table with her coffee in hand (black, it’s always been black.) and sleeves pulled up to her fingertips. He holds her eye contact for a moment before letting his eyes skitter away again.

Back to his plate.

The plate is safe, hell, under all that food what is it besides a white dot?

He bites his lip hard enough to taste iron.

“Is everything alright, honey?” Joyce asks. Her voice is soft, and Will tries not to flinch when she puts a hand on his arm.

He nods slowly, not lifting his eyes.

“I think so.”

Joyce makes a soft noise, pulling her chair closer.

“You think so? You seem a little upset.”

Will is silent, doesn’t affirm or deny.

He doesn’t quite know himself. He knows he’s terrified. He feels the worms in his belly wriggling up a storm.

They’re only figurative this time, though.

“Well, you’ve gotta use your words, baby. I won’t know what’s wrong unless you do.” 

Joyce says.

Will doesn’t comment on the fact that she says that something is  _ wrong _ .

is it?

“I- I’m just… haven’t been sleeping, that’s all.”

He can see her expression without looking.

Furrowed brows, mouth slightly open, hair falling into her face.

“You haven’t? Is it more nightmares?”

Will thinks about that question.

Is a dream about kissing his best friend, a  _ boy _ , a nightmare?

“No. I’m- I don’t know how to explain it.”

He looks up at his mother.

Joyce has the expression he expected, although her eyes are soft, with something like pity. His throat closes at the idea of them sharpening at his confession.

“Well, take your time, sweetie. I’ll be ready whenever you find the words, okay?”

The tiniest smile finds its way on Will’s lips.

“‘Kay.”

Joyce ruffles his hair.

“For now, make sure you finish your breakfast. Your brother worked hard on it.” 

Will nods, and begins slowly picking at his food, trying again and again to put the words together in his mind.

He tries to think of what he’ll do if his house is full of red dots.

He tries to stop thinking of that.

As he’s about halfway through his eggs, the sentences seem to fall into place, and he remembers something that he can try to use to explain his feelings.

“Mom, do you remember last year? When… When everyone was talking about love, and- and Jane and Mike wouldn’t spend any time apart and Jonathan kept coming home with lipstick marks?”

He lets it come out in a rush, quick. If it comes out too slow, it won’t at all.

And neither will he.

Joyce takes her seat again, hands still foamy from where she was washing the dishes.

“I do.”

“And… Remember when you told me things would be different when I fell in love, and I told you… I never would?”

“I do.”

Will takes another moment to think of the words he’s about to say, the admission that he’ll put out into the world and never take back.

Once he pushes it away, he can never draw it back to himself.

“Well… I was… I was sort of lying. I- I already did fall in love with someone.”

Joyce grins just slightly, then covers it again. Will knows she’s happy, she just doesn’t want to scare them by showing emotion.

She’s very bad at hiding emotion, however.

“But… it’s… it’s a boy.”

He says.

The room is still quiet. He can still hear the TV in the living room, the soft garbling of cartoons that Jane likes to watch when she isn’t doing schoolwork. 

The atmosphere shifts, he thinks, but he can’t tell how.

Only that it seems to.

Joyce is silent for a moment, and Will gets the sense that she’s waiting. For what, he has no clue.

He just admitted the Thing to someone else, and for the first time in his life he feels truly  _ scared _ .

When Joyce speaks again, Will feels like it’s been fifty years.

“Is that all?”

Will looks up at her, brows furrowed.

Her expression is careful, hiding her true feelings behind a thin wall that he knows is seconds from cracking.

“What?”

He asks.

“Will, you’ve nearly died on me twice now. You actually  _ did  _ die that first time. Liking a boy doesn’t… That’s not something you should be losing sleep over, sweetheart.”

Will doesn’t know how to respond.

His mouth opens, and he thinks vaguely that he probably looks a bit like a fish, before he closes it again.

He swallows hard.

“I just thought- I don’t know… I was- I was worried.” 

He says. His face is hot now and at Joyce’s words a part of him wonders why he ever would’ve thought Joyce would despise him for something that’s been so fundamentally  _ him _ from the day he was born.

Another part of him wonders if she always knew.

If she always knew, that it was there and that she couldn’t change it, and yet she still brought him back.

She still let him keep living despite knowing about the Thing Inside Him.

He wonders if she knew before he did.

He breaks out into a laugh, tittering and scared, before tears fall down his face and he realizes so suddenly that Joyce has no room in her heart to even entertain the  _ thought _ of hating him.

And never did.

He tries to wipe the tears away, but before he can Joyce is up and wrapping him in a hug so tight he can barely breathe. He hiccups against her and listens to her breathing and her voice as she tells him that she  _ loves _ him, that he’s  _ never _ going to be unsafe in his home.

And he squeezes onto her like a lifeline, digging his fingers into her cardigan and hooking them between the crocheted loops. He murmurs a thank you that he isn’t even sure either of them hear, rather, he thinks it’s more of a feeling.

Joyce shushes him and squeezes him again before speaking, very quietly.

“Thank  _ you _ , honey. I’m glad to know you trust me. I want you to feel that way, that you can tell me  _ anything _ , at  _ any  _ time.”

Will’s response is more hiccups.

In his head, one white dot earns it’s permanence.


End file.
